


Three Flowers in a Vase

by Loracine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Fluff, First Meeting, Human AU, M/M, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean scratched the back of his neck. “You're Castiel, right,” he asked.</p><p>“Yes,” he replied and turned to replace the bottle he was not buying.</p><p>Dean sounded a little unsure when he asked, “Would you like to go out for coffee sometime?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Flowers in a Vase

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [SPN Writing Challenge](http://spnwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/): February 2016 on Tumblr.  
> loracine vs [confusedjimmy](http://confusedjimmy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Prompt: roses  
> Pairings: Dean x Castiel  
> Just to warn you, there are spoilers for Season 11, sorta. I haven't seen any of the episodes, just watched a few clips on YouTube and got an idea.

 

_Yes._

He arrived at Rosebud before the morning rush carrying a bouquet of yellow peonies and a package, the bell over the door announcing his arrival. He huffed when a particularly strong gust of wind blew the door closed behind him, making his coat flap about like it was going to take off. He'd bet his hair was a mess by now as well. He stopped just inside the door, looking confused.

“Yo, Cas,” Gabriel exclaimed from behind the counter.

Oh, right. “Gabriel,” he responded and set his things down on the counter.

Gabriel scooped up the flowers with a coo, doing the same with the package once a vase had been found and put to good use. The man was seriously bright and shiny this morning. He ripped through the paper with gusto and actually squealed when he saw what Castiel had brought.

Balthazar appeared from the back room. “Don't be such a wet blanket, little bro,” he admonished. He was smirking as he said it, but his hands were already busy making Castiel's drink.

“Morning, Balthy,” he replied, unable to hide his smirk.

“Cassie! You shouldn't have,” Gabriel exclaimed and promptly threw himself at his much taller little brother. Seriously, there were days he considered whether or not the man had been switched at the hospital and was actually supposed to belong to some other family. He really was a golden little munchkin compared to the rest of them. It was too late now, though. He was family and that would never change.

Castiel ruffled Gabriel's hair affectionately and returned the hug, knowing he wouldn't be released until he did. “It's Rosebud's ten year anniversary,” he explained. The painting was actually a framed print of Renoir's Discarded Roses. A tribute to the shop's name. He was proud of them. His two big brothers all grown up, no longer acting like spoiled fledglings with their petty squabbling.

“Thanks for the scribbles,” Balthazar praised and set the filled cup on the counter, referring to the painting. He liked to try his new recipes out on Castiel as a final step before adding it to the menu, so there was no way to tell what it was until he tasted it. He hesitated, vaguely recalling a time when everything tasted like molecules. Had that been real? He didn't think he'd ever been in a mental institution, but he could vividly recall a dream where everything had been white and he'd talked nonsense for weeks. He had been disappointed with his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches then, something about tasking molecules.

Castiel recovered quickly when Gabriel gave him a worried look. “Business is doing well,” he asked. He took a careful sip of his drink and pointed out a few of Gabriel's sweets to take with him. It was piping hot and moderately spiced. “This is good, Balthy.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

Balthazar smiled, “Excellent,” and turned around to chalk in the new coffee special. He liked to test out the best of his coffee recipes on Castiel before adding them to the menu. Apparently he was drinking something called a Cinnamon Mocha Sunrise, though he was positive Balthy had left a few ingredients out of the name. Pumpkin maybe?

Gabriel, as usual, refused the money Castiel tried to pay with. “Little brothers eat on the house,” he grumped, and the issue was closed.

Castiel stuffed the money, plus a little extra, into the tip jar when they weren't watching, just to be contrary, and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at them while he did it. “Same time tomorrow,” he asked as he walked to the door, bracing for the wind still causing havoc outside.

A pair of voices chorused in response, “Don't make us come looking for you.”

The first few hours at work flew by, punctuated by the occasional twinge between his shoulder blades. The first time it happened he had the strangest feeling like there should be more weight to it, but he soon realized that the sensation was his skin was itching and he abandoned the notion. That's right, he had this rash between his shoulder blades. It was in the perfect spot. Too low to reach it from overhead and too high for his fingernails to get the right angle from underneath. That must be why there was this big glaring red entry on his calendar for a dermatology appointment. It was tagged with a note about his summer vacation in Florida where he assumed he picked it up. It had to have been the hotel sheets. His computer monitor wallpaper was even a picture of him in swimming trunks and snorkeling gear grinning like a fool. He could almost hear the sound the seagulls had made near the ocean if he concentrated. Most people get keychains or a bobble hula girl. He should have at least gotten one of those big conch shells. Instead, Castiel brought home a medical condition.

Castiel was shaken from his thoughts by a knock on his office door. He rolled his shoulders, wishing his appointment with the dermatologist had been this morning and rasped, “Come in.” Wow, that had sounded worse than gravel. He cleared his throat as the door opened, revealing one of his project managers. She shouldn't need to see him this early in the day. He looked at the clock to be sure. Was it nearly ten already? This time his voice was less harsh and more the usual deep rumble, “Kathy.” He scowled at the puff of moisture that followed his words. He really needed to get the thermostat for his office replaced. It was easily ten degrees colder in here than he had set the temperature at. There was frost on his window.

She gave him an uncertain smile. “If you're busy I can come back later,” Kathy hedged.

“No. Now is fine. I was just caught up in my thoughts,” he assured her. “What can I do for you?”

“The, uh, Brickston account. I need your approval on the latest projections before I send them out to the client,” she replied.

He took the tablet from her hands and scrolled through the pages. Now that he was no longer dwelling on what he couldn't recall, what he could came easily to him, such as the proper formatting for a report of this type. He worked quickly, marking the few minor changes that needed to be made. Kathy waited until he was done, looking a little uncomfortable standing by the door. He had a reputation as a cold, unfeeling robot, a rumor he ceased bothering to dispel. It took him a little while to warm up to people and if that meant his new hires worked twice as hard to prove themselves, he wasn't going to disillusion them. He was pretty sure the shock of finding out he was human after all would throw the entire company into disarray. Better to just leave well enough alone.

When he was done marking his revisions, he returned the device. “Implement those changes to conform to current company policy and I'll approve your report the next time it crosses my desk,” Castiel told her. He meant it as praise, but he could tell she didn't see it that way when she backed out of his office without a word looking like he'd just kicked her puppy. Seriously? He hadn't pointed to anything wrong with the report itself, just the format.

Castiel sighed, rubbing at the place between his eyebrows. His back twinged and he rolled his shoulders to alleviate the feeling. It got worse, the slight sensation turning into a full out maddening itch. He grabbed the closest object with a long handle and squirmed until he successfully dug its sharp edges into the offending skin. Utter relief washed over him with every scrape of the skin between his shoulder blades. Ugh. Six hours to go until his appointment with the dermatologist. It felt like an eternity, and he only had his administrative work to keep him company. He ignored the continued annoyance and decided to bury himself in work. The upcoming quarterly earnings report was open on his monitor. The skeleton was already in place, he justed needed to flesh it out and add some colorful charts before Friday. Paperwork, especially this sort of paperwork was his least favorite aspect of the job, the second being anything to do with managing the forty something people he employed. This, however, was not something he could just hand off to a subordinate, no matter how competent he judged them, and no one hired to work for his company was anything less than exemplary. No, his employees had done the hard part, crunched a few numbers and fed him the raw data. It was up to Castiel to process the information into a relatively understandable format.

He was just getting his concentration back, settling into the proper frame of mind when his desk phone chirped with an intercom request. He glowered at the offending object. It chirped again. Someone somewhere was laughing at him. Assuming it was his assistant he pressed the accept button, “Novak.” He wouldn't get anything done until he figured out what Ryan wanted.

Ryan, his assistant, opened with, “Mr. Novak, a client wishes to speak with you directly.”

“Hand it to the appropriate agent,” he instructed. That was what he'd hired them for. He didn't do client contact very often, or willingly.

“Ms. Milton is very insistent that he will only speak to you. Can I pencil him in for five,” Ryan interjected. Milton. Milton. Where had he heard that name. Oh, right. Big client. Assbutt.

“She's coming here,” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ryan affirmed.

Castiel really wanted to blow this off. He really did. “I have something this afternoon. You'll have to schedule that meeting for tomorrow,” Castiel replied.

“I tried to give her a three-thirty slot tomorrow and sshe is adamant that he must see you today,” he countered.

He knew then he was screwed. “Shove whatever I have at four to tomorrow and tell Ms. Milton I can see her then,” he conceded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Just, interrupt me with an important meeting after fifteen minutes, will you,” Castiel asked. “I can not be late for my four-thirty.” Ms. Milton, no matter how much money her account represented, was not a good enough reason to miss this appointment. Rescheduling with the dermatologist would be far too difficult and he'd already waited two months. Two months of this constant infuriating itching. He could not stand it one more day, would not. Ugh. Change the topic. This was going to be a long couple hours.

Of course, the meeting with Ms. Milton ran five minutes later than he'd hoped, leaving Castiel very little time to negotiate traffic from his office downtown to the dermatologist's office several miles away. The note said he was looking for a two story building called Henley Blossom or Blossom Head. It was Blossom something. The handwriting on his smartphone wasn't exactly legible. He groaned when his eyes landed on a bright pink two story building called Pampered Posy. What had he been thinking? The color was hideous. Worse, there was an animal grooming service on the ground floor. That must be where the horrible name came from. He could imagine the stench of wet dog. He parked with two minutes to spare and raced up the outside staircase. He almost made it. He was two steps from the door, reaching out for the handle when someone tall and broad walked out of the office door, looking at a piece of paper in his hand and totally not paying attention to where he was going. Castiel didn't have time to change course. He was moving too swiftly to prevent the inevitable. It was a full body collision, Castiel's forehead narrowly missing the other man's nose. Castiel rocked back on his heels and the man he'd hit dropped his paper with a curse. Castiel's brain stuttered to a halt.

Normally this would not be enough to make Castiel flustered. True, he wasn't the best with the social graces, but that didn't mean he was shy. At any other time he would have apologized smoothly and continued on his way. At least, that is what he assumed he would have done. His luck is not that good this time. This time he got a look at the stranger and promptly turned into a flustered little girl on the inside. “Sorry,” he blurted out when his brain came back on line. It was all he could manage because, holy shit, it's Dean Winchester. Star quarterback of the football team, subject of every wet dream he had as a teenager Dean Winchester. And, oh god, he was staring and he couldn't stop. What would that body look like in a leather jacket?

Dean grunted in response as he bent down to retrieve the paper, thankfully oblivious to Castiel's predicament. When he straightened Castiel did his best to pretend like he hadn't tried to get a good look at the other man's ass while he was down there, struck dumb. He could have sworn someone had once told him something about personal space. He really shouldn't have done that and his cheeks burned with embarrassment at the thought of getting caught. Dean smoothed out the little piece of blue paper, a prescription, and then finally looked up at him. Oh my, his hormone addled teenaged memories had not truly done those clear green eyes justice. They almost glowed the color was so vibrant. Wow. Castiel was stuck in this expression of a wide-eyed deer in the headlights. “Are you alright,” Dean asked, snapping him out whatever that had been. He really needed to improve his knowledge of human social customs. He was pretty sure the constant staring thing was not on the positive list.

Castiel blinked. Shit. He cleared his throat, his face burning, and hoped he hadn't been obvious. “Yes. I am quite satisfactory,” he replied like a dumbass as he hastily tried to look stern and not so stupified. Dean's voice was even sexier than he remembered from high school, if that was even possible.

Dean smile dimmed at the formal reply. “Right, umm, I'll get out of your way then,” he said.

Castiel, for his part, was trying very hard not to let his embarrassment show, especially after Dean looked to be laughing at him. He nodded, unable to think of anything worthwhile to add, and stepped around the man to go to his appointment, now a minute late. He definitely did not notice how warm Dean's arm was from only inches away as he passed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel missed seeing the brilliant shine of the man's soul beneath his skin.

Castiel ran into him again at the farmer's market. His stress levels were leveling out, finally. It was his first real weekend in a month and he planned to take full advantage. He was examining the bottles of unfiltered honey, deciding between wildflower and blueberry, when someone stumbled into him. It didn't have much force, mainly their elbows collided as the other man fought to regain his balance. Castiel scowled and looked behind him to find well-worn jeans and a scuffed leather jacket. “Watch your step,” he informed the stranger.

The man sounded apologetic when he replied, “Sorry, man. Idiots don't know where they're going.” His voice sounded familiar, like whiskey and sandpaper. Rough enough to send shivers down his spine and possessing that deep smooth finish he could never get enough of.

Castiel turned around and looked up into the face of Dean Winchester. Crap. A look behind him showed a steady press of people. Likely one had strayed from the flow and bumped into Dean, creating a domino effect. “It is quite crowded,” he conceded.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “You're Castiel, right,” he asked.

“Yes,” he replied and turned to replace the bottle he was not buying.

Dean sounded a little unsure when he asked, “Would you like to go out for coffee sometime?”

Castiel turned around, looking utterly confused. He tilted his head. “What,” he asked. Did he just hear that right?

Dean rubbed the back of his neck like he was uncomfortable, or maybe unsure. “I mean, if you don't want to that's perfectly fine,” he continued. “We just keep running into each other and I thought...”

Castiel gave him a tiny hesitant smile, hoping he wasn't making the wrong choice and replied, “I think I would like that.” He ignored the tiny voice in his head telling him that if Dean hadn't shown any interest in him for the past five or so years that it simply wasn't logical for him to start now.

Dean smiled, “Awesome.”

Castiel called Gabriel as soon as he got home. “I don't know what to do,” he complained.

His brother chuckled on the other end of the phone line, “What's there to know, Cassie? Put on something that doesn't scream stuffy tax accountant and meet the man for coffee.”

There was a lot more involved in that conversation, but those were the highlights. Castiel spent some more time whining about his perceived lack in social skills. Gabriel called him an oblivious idiot, using an analogy that had something to do with eclaires and marscapone. He didn't bother to point out that his brother's antics made about as much sense as investing in subprime mortage loans, and then had to stop and wonder where that came from. Regardless, Gabriel hadn't been willing to explain further and Castiel was too emotionally drained to continue. Castiel's love life was a mess. It was a disaster zone, or like that demilitarized zone with the land mines and the barb wire fences. It was a no fly zone that he hadn't braved in quite some time. Or, that's what Gabriel had told him in between ranting about his exes. He had already admitted that Hannah had actually been psychotic. Not the cute quirks sort of crazy but the buckets of blood and creepy stalker sort of psychotic that necessitated the eventual involvement of cops and restraining orders. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not helping.

He wanted to just completely ignore about his past fumbles. Right now, though, he couldn't. What if he was reading too much into this? He wasn't exactly Don Juan de Marco, bore not the slightest resemblance. Would Dean end up just another name on his long list? Gabriel had called him Captain Oblivious once. Barefoot, he stood in front of his full-length bathroom mirror and squinted at himself. Nope, those dress pants would not work, no matter how many of them he owned. He really wished he owned a proper trenchcoat. Looking at himself in the mirror he imagined he would look dashing, in a nerdy sort of way. He sighed, eyes roving over what he did actually have at the moment. Gabriel had told him to avoid dressing like he usually did for work, but that didn't leave much in his closet, not if he needed to be professionally presentable as well. He was probably reading too much into it. Dean hadn't paid him much attention, at all really, in high school, only talking to him when he needed something. Maybe the guy just wanted some tips on his retirement account. He could do that. Maybe he'd buy the coat on the way in, a tan one that hit him mid-calf. He could almost see it. His watch beeped, telling him he had fifteen minutes. Castiel huffed, grabbed a random pair of pants, and ran out the door ten minutes later. His fashion sense was hopeless anyways.

The morning flew by. New client meetings, weekly briefings from his project managers, and stepping in to handle tricky situations when an agent got in over his or depth took up most of those first five hours. Noon arrived before he was prepared. Like a coward he had chosen Gabriel and Balthazar's pastry and coffee house. He'd blurted it out, saying the name of the first place he could think of and only later remembered exactly who owned it. It was perfect, actually. Located not far from his office, he could spend his lunch hour with Dean and make it back in time for his one o'clock meeting. Both of his brothers would be there, though, and the nosy bastards could smell blood in the water a mile away. When it was happening on their own doorstep, Castiel doubted he would be able to finish half his own drink before one of them innocently wandered over to investigate. This was going to be so embarrassing.

Dean was already seated when he arrived and all of his doubts melted away. Dean smiled and waved, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as Castiel made his way to him.

“I thought I was early,” Castiel explained as he sat down across from him.

“No no. You're fine. I got out my meeting a little early,” he assured him. “I love this place. It totally didn't occur to me that your brothers own it. They make these incredible little cherry tart things. Anyways, they gave me the talk about five minutes ago. You can relax.”

“I am so sorry,” he quickly said. He was a thirty-seven year old man. He didn't need his big brothers looking after him. He thought they'd gotten over that a couple decades back.

He smirked, “Don't worry about it. It was almost endearing. They care about you.”

Castiel was a little worried until he noticed that Dean wasn't complaining. He seemed almost amused that the Novak brothers had thought it necessary to protect their littlest sibling. The ensuing silence felt a little uncomfortable until he admitted, “I have no idea what I'm doing here.”

“We are having coffee,” Dean announced. “You know, I remember you from eleventh grade chemistry.”

Castiel was surprised. He was almost positive he had been invisible to everyone but his little circle of friends. He didn't recall any particular instance in which Dean had acted differently. “That was nineteen years ago,” he sputtered. He'd always sat two rows behind the other teen so he could stare, erm gaze to his pitter-pattering heart's content. He had been pathetic.

“You are a difficult person to forget. Man, you saved my butt so many times and you didn't even know it. I actually studied because I didn't want you to think I was just another sports Neanderthal,” Dean continued. “Did you know I took Calculus so that I could have at least one class with you senior year? You were so adorable with your messy hair, those wire-rimmed glasses, and that big brain of yours. I almost asked you out so many times. I just didn't think you'd want anything to do with a grunt like me.”

It occurred to him that Dean was admitting a flaw in his past self-esteem. It didn't sound like the person he knew at all. Dean didn't do chick flick moments. “I don't appreciate being made fun of,” Castiel said, suddenly regretting this whole thing. For a second there he thought Dean's eyes had turned a pale blue. He panicked, though he had no idea why blue eyes instead of green would be a problem, until he looked again and found he had been mistaken. Reassuring warm green, nothing of the gruff machismo he remembered or the icy blue he thought he had seen.

“Woah woah,” Dean said as Castiel stood up. “I'm not making fun of you. I'm not.”

Dean looked so earnest that Castiel sat back down. “But why,” he began and couldn't finish the question.

A slow smile spread across Dean's mouth and his eyes twinkled. “Well, because I stopped giving a shit about other people's sensibilities long ago and you are just as dorky as I remember,” he soothed, and the way he said it sounded like being a little dorky was a good thing. Dean pulled a small pink rosebud from his briefcase and held it out to Castiel. Smooth Dean, very smooth.

Castiel inhaled the subtle scent of the bud, muted because of its immaturity. Its youth made the rose that much more special for he would be able to enjoy it for far longer than if Dean had given him one at the peak of bloom. “Mmmm, pink. The color for admiration or appreciation. Are you trying to tell me you admire me, Dean,” he asked.

“Yeah. The lady at the flower shop helped me pick it out,” he explained, a blush coloring his cheeks.

He settled into his chair more casually, getting comfortable. “Well then, tell me what you've been up to,” he said, hoping the change in topic would break the tension left in the air between them.

They talked the hour away. Castiel learned that Dean had dabbled in real estate for a few years while the market had been hot and then used the money to open up his own consulting firm. Dean asked Castiel all about himself and his life and seemed to relish the way Castiel's eyes lit up as he answered question after question about his job in the financial sector. He wasn't exactly an accountant, even though that was how he got started, but he still got hands on the numbers side of the business from time to time. Towards the end he was apologizing for prattling on about the intricacies of finance, a conversation subject even his brothers found dull.

Dean chuckled. “You don't bore me at all,” he admitted. “I have to go back to the office now, but can we do this again? Say, Wednesday. Same time, same place?”

“I would like that,” Castiel replied, immensely pleased that for once events had unfolded in an unexpected way. He twirled the little rosebud with his fingers happily. He didn't notice the single sharp thorn on its stem until he was placing it in a bud vase. He felt a sharp prick on the pad of his thumb and was not quick enough to keep the drips of blood from landing on his morning meeting notes. He'd have to rewrite that entire page. He'd smeared red all over the careful swirls of ink. Even that little mishap did nothing to damper his mood. He had a little pleased smile, more like a gentle uptilt at the corners of his mouth, whenever he got a glimpse of the rose sitting in his window, the western sun causing the pastel hue to glow almost fuschia when it lit the petals from behind. Now he just had to figure out why everyone in his office, including his assistant, seemed to be even more wary of him than usual.

Wednesday came and went and so did a dozen other noontime lunch dates. Those weird moments where his dreams would bleed into his waking life disappeared. Maybe those other things were just his imagination trying to spice up his dull existence. He assumed he'd been cured.

They spent most of their free time together. Dean got Castiel addicted to those little cherry things and Castiel eventually taught Dean the joys of using artisan honey in just about everything. They had movie dates and dinner dates and crashing on the couch eating ice cream dates. When Castiel got a little too squirmy and Dean figured out what was wrong, he didn't walk away. He frowned, called him an idiot in that growly voice of his, and spent the next five minutes getting blue shampoo all over both of them. Dean even helped him wash it all off twenty minutes later, and then some. Dean's dirty mouth had him sullying the shower tiles, barely touched. Afterward, clean and sated, he discovered Dean could talk even longer about his Impala than Castiel could handle, which was a lot. Seriously, he had a thing for Dean's voice. It was cute, and a bit strange, that the man treated a machine, he called it Baby, more like his mistress than his car. For a couple weeks there Castiel wondered if he could even compete. He should have known better.

On February the thirteenth, Castiel carried out his usual evening routine. He took a steaming hot shower, paying special attention to his face. He put on a clean set of pajamas from his dresser, reveling in the clean cotton scent of the new detergent he had picked out. It was more more pleasant than the horrible overpowering stench of the last one. He went downstairs to make his single cup of chamomile tea and check to make sure all the locks were secure. When his worries for home security were soothed he took the chamomile up to his bedroom where he would sip on it and read until his eyes got too heavy to continue. He drifted off to slumber.

_Dean was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Castiel couldn't remember how they'd arrived there. Dean wasn't getting up. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't stopping Castiel's fist as it struck his beautiful face over and over again. Crushing bone, splitting flesh. No. Stop. What did I do?_

_“Cas, this isn't you. This isn't you.”_

_His knuckles were dripping with the same thick blood painting Dean's features, coming from Dean. He couldn't look away. Castiel did this._

_“Cas. Cas. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you.”_

_Stop. His hands. His body._

_“I need you.”_

_No. Castiel felt like screaming._

_“Cas.”_

_For a moment he broke through, or something broke him free, though he had no idea for how long. H was still, resisting. Confused. He's missing something. This wasn't how it happened. How what happened? But then the dream played on and he's helpless to stop it, lost in it. Something changed. His hand reached out. He wanted to connect with Dean through every ounce of what he was. Gentle fingers traced the sharp angle of Dean's stubbled jaw. Not hurting. Only seeking and offering comfort._

_“Cas. No. Cas. Cas.”_

_It's warm, so warm where they touched. He could feel it like a closed circuit. Warmth and light flowing through both of them. So much potential. He willed it to a purpose, erasing his mistakes from Dean's flesh, wishing he could do so much more. “So sorry, Dean.”_

_Dean's eyes flashed black._

_Then he was alone, staring at his body painted red with Dean's blood. He screamed._

Something woke him up, his heart pounding. He was struggling to surface from another of those too real nightmares. He thought those would go away. He was close to sobbing, body still trembling from the remnants of the imaginary horror that gripped him. It had been a dream. Only a dream. He rocked side to side in his bed to calm himself down.

He didn't notice it at first, the sound that had shaken him from his torment. Castiel lived in a two story brownstone in a quiet little neighborhood. Quiet was how he liked it, what he was used to. He was distracted with his own distress, but soon enough the lack of quiet registered. He identified the gentle notes of an acoustic guitar slipping in through the space left by his open window, followed by the croon of Dean singing to the tune his fingers were picking on its strings.

“All you have to do is close your eyes  
And just reach out your hands and touch me”

Castiel's muffled sounds of distress hitched, his watery eyes opened. He scrambled out of bed, yelping when bare toes hit the relative ice of his bedroom's bamboo flooring. There was a snap in the air and the room was chilly, frigid even, but he made it to the window. When he got there his abused toes were completely disregarded.

“Hold me close don't ever let me go  
More than words is all I ever needed you to show”

Dean was standing on the sidewalk, singing softly just for him. His head was tilted up towards Castiel's bedroom, eyes closed. He looked angelic.

“Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me  
'Cause I'd already know”

Castiel was frozen in place as Dean continued the melody. The nightmare forgotten, there was a feeling that could only be called joy swelling inside his ribcage. It felt so much bigger, though.

Dean crooned the last words, letting the hum of the guitar die down, and opened his eyes. He smirked. Cocky bastard. “Hey, Cas. You gonna let me in,” he asked.

Castiel nodded. His race down the stairs nearly sent him sprawling in a heap at the bottom and he was breathing hard when he opened the front door. Dean had packed up his guitar and was waiting just on the other side. “I. Um. Uh,” Castiel stutttered.

Dean held out a deep crimson rosebud. Just one. “I love you more than words can say, Cas,” he said and kissed him. “Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Dean, that's not till tomorrow,” he admonished as he ushered his awesome boyfriend inside.

“Check your clock,” he replied with a chuckle and an eyebrow wiggle.

Sure enough, the little clock on his stove read just after midnight. “What did I ever do,” he began. He didn't realized he only finished the last half of that sentence in his head, 'to deserve you.' Exhaustion crept up on him now that the excitement was passed. Castiel, still not completely awake, leaned in for another long, sweet kiss. His eyes closed of their own volition.

Dean steadied him as he leaned a bit too far, swaying and caught between wakefulness and sleep. “Woah there. Let's get you back to bed,” he said as his hands gripped Castiel's shoulders.

Castiel opened his eyes, “hmmm,” and nodded. “You know, its not fair.”

“What isn't,” Dean asked, ushering Castiel up the stairs.

Castiel turned around and waggled a finger at him. “Your gift isn't till later,” he pouted. “Don't know if you'll like it.”

Dean leered, “Is it a fun gift?”

Castiel was still trying to tease out when Dean was being serious about his shameless flirting and when he was just being playful. He went with the second option and answered, “That can be arranged,” while Dean got him heading in the correct direction. He was tempted to walk a little slower just so his boyfriend's hands would be warm against his skin for as long as possible.

“But, I did alright,” he asked, sounding unsure. He urged Castiel back in bed, thick comforter pulled up to his chin.

Dean's fingers combed through the mess of dark hair on his head and he pressed into him, like a cat. “The best,” he replied on a yawn. When Dean pulled back, disentangling himself from sleepy limbs, he reached out, gripping his bicep, “Stay.”

Dean leaned down and kissed Castiel's temple. “I'll be right back,” he assured him

Castiel heard rustling as his boyfriend shucked his clothes and a moment later, wearing only his boxer briefs, Dean slid into bed next to him, curling around him like a giant cat. Castiel wrapped an arm around his waist, thumb lightly caressing the skin on his ribs. “I love you, Dean,” he said into the darkness.

“Night, Cas,” he heard in response.

_This dream wasn't like any of his other dreams. For one, he wasn't participating at all. Second, he wasn't in control of anything. Not where he was looking, where he was standing, or what his hands were doing. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be possessed._

_Wait. What?_

_Dean turned the corner and headed in his direction. He tried smiling, but felt no response from his muscles. This was it. Dean was going to stop and ask what was wrong. It was going to happen any second now._

_Dean almost walked right through him, Castiel's body stepping out of the way just in time._

_Maybe this was a memory, but he didn't recall ever seeing a place quite like this. It looked to be a cross between a library and a mansion with no windows. There was a lot of wood and stone. They looked like massive granite pillars. He wanted to see more but the viewpoint shifted and he could feel the muscles in his eyes working._

_Dean was doing something in the kitchen. Yet, that was and was not Dean. It looked like Dean, walked like Dean, but something was wrong. This version of Dean was tired, the sort of tired that comes with experience and not age. He could see it in the set of the man's shoulders and the way he hung his head for a moment, like something was weighing on his mind._

_'Castiel,' a disembodied voice whispered through his head._

_“Yo, Sammy! Hurry up man, you're sandwich is getting cold,” Dean yelled out and hurried past with both plates of food to a long table._

_Castiel followed at a slow pace and by the time he could see Dean again there was a gun sitting next to him, his feet propped up on the table while he took big happy bites of a grilled cheese sandwich. He could feel a sort of twisted glee at the exhaustion on this Dean's face. It didn't belong to Castiel, but somehow it was coming from him, emanating from somewhere inside of him. He heard a click, the gun shivered on the tabletop. Dean didn't notice and somehow Castiel knew that the next time he used it the pistol would misfire._

_Castiel tried to tell him, to move, to speak, to yell. Something. Anything. He was in full panic mode. It was worse than being paralyzed. No matter how desperately he wanted to warn this other Dean all he could do was feel his hand reach up and scratch at his chin._

_'Castiel,' he heard again. 'Interesting.'_

_His vision whited out, the colors bleeding away till he could not see, feel, or hear anything._

_'Be a good boy. I'll be with you in just a second,' the voice told him._

Dean was making coffee when he woke. The heavenly aroma of french roast filled the room and dragged him from his slumber. Castiel hadn't slept that heavily in a while. His boyfriend's back was to him arranging two bowls of granola with chunks of fruit and plain yogurt. Castiel retrieved the honey from the pantry and set it down where it could be seen. He wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and hugged him close, watching what he was doing with his chin on his shoulder. “Hello, Dean,” he rumbled into his ear before releasing him in favor of the coffee already prepared exactly as he preferred. He was reminded of last night's surprise when he saw the rosebud sitting in its vase on the counter. Bubbles of happy welled up in him. Best Valentine's Day ever.

Something wasn't quite right, though. Dean's body was stiff, unyielding, and for a moment Castiel could have sworn that beautiful red rosebud paled, tiny shards of icicles clinging to white petals. No, that wasn't right. He blinked and the vision stayed. “This is a dream,” he remarked. He'd finally completely lost his marbles. The kitchen around him stuttered, like an image that had lost cohesion for just a moment, before the flow of time continued. He shook his head, like he was trying to drain water from his ears.

The voice that answered him was not who he expected. “Yes and no,” a stranger replied. A stranger in Castiel's kitchen who not five seconds ago could have passed for Dean's twin, or Dean. The man turned around, setting the bowl of crawling insects trapped in an amber lake of honey in front of Castiel's usual spot.

Castiel recoiled. This man was the same height as Dean, but when he stepped forward Dean's familiar features steadily morphed into a person he did not recognize, with blond hair and blue eyes. Blue eyes that held nothing but malice, despite the gentleness of his tone. “I am dreaming. Wake up,” he ordered himself. How did he get in here? He should probably take those anti-psychotics his doctor had prescribed.

“Come on, I thought you liked honey,” the stranger crooned, his smile vicious. It reminded Castiel of something.

Castiel blinked, looked down at the bowl, and was revolted. The insects were dead, a rotting mush of guts, chiton, and the cloying sweet smell of honey. He backed up. He needed to wake up now. He wanted his Dean.

“You are soooo booooriiiiiing,” he whined. “You could have imagined anything with anyone, and you chose domestication as a human. There was no excitement. Your characters were uninspiring. You kept forgetting your lines. And the plot! Worse than a cheesy romance novel. Geez.” He made a gagging sound. “I'm still waiting for the laugh track.”

Hurt flashed across Castiel's face. He opened his mouth to tell his brother… Brother. He saw a flash of three pairs of wings brighter than the sun and so pale that an entire mountain of fresh powder wouldn't do the color justice. It was a memory, one he knew was millenia old. With that also came a name, one that made his blood run cold. “Lucifer,” Castiel spat. He backed up, memories flooding back to him. Millions of years and yet so much was still missing. “What is happening?” What had he done? He flipped through images, looking for recent events that would explain his current situation, even though he was only guessing as to what sort of bind he'd gotten in to this time. Was he hanging in a warehouse losing blood into a bucket?

Lucifer's face lit up. “You said yes, dear brother,” he told him.

That was worse. Castiel didn't understand, or maybe refused to. He'd deal with that later. He shoved it aside. “Where's Dean,” he demanded. He would never, could never. It wasn't possible. Don't think about it. Which Dean was he asking for?

Lucifer ignored him. “You know, roses have always been my favorite. It's the thorns,” he said, picking up the white rosebud. It whithered in his hand. Those icy blue eyes pinned him, mocking pity plain to see. Roses had no thorns before Lucifer got it into his head to improve upon them. Not unlike what he'd done to Lilith, to a lesser extent. “He'll never love you. Not like you love him. He won't be tamed. Too many thorns in that boy.” He stepped closer, the room fading away. The reality Castiel had constructed was bending to suit the Devil and he was helpless to stop it. “I can see why you like him. So pretty. So tempting. You know, his soul is quite a bit more damaged than the last time I saw it. Care to fill me in?”

Castiel shook his head in denial. This was not happening. Yet, it was and it had. He remembered. So much pain. So many mistakes. The Mark, the Darkness, Amara, the Cage, Lucifer. Lucifer, the last remaining archangel. He said yes. How could he have thought the dream world was real?

Then he realized, the roses. He'd been trying to snap himself out of that trance. All of Heaven knew that Lucifer had given the rose its thorns. He was a fool. This had only been one of several dream worlds he had constructed while the Devil walked around in his skin.

Lucifer wasn't paying attention to his little revelation, the moment when Castiel realized what a complete failure he truly was. He would have enjoyed the utter horror that flitted briefly across the younger angel's face. “Not in the mood? That's fine. Let's try something a bit more realistic this time,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Have fun.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Castiel was caught in a loop. The same five minutes over and over and over. He didn't know how long he had been stuck here or how many times he had been forced to relive one of his worst mistakes. He tried to close his eyes, to shut out what was coming next. A ring of holy fire sprung up in a tight circle where he stood. “What are you doing,” he asked.

Dean stood and his, “We gotta talk,” was as heartbreaking as it had been the last hundred or so times he'd heard it.

He hated the sound of his own voice right now, the desperate assertion that he must be doing the right thing. “About what? Let me go!” He hadn't figured it out yet.

The next part filled him with fear. “About Superman. And Kryptonite,” Dean explained, looking so sad, like Castiel had ripped his heart from his chest. Maybe he had.

“How'd you know what I said,” Bobby asked.

“How long you been watching us,” Sam added added as he paced just outside the circle. He wanted to tell them he was only watching to keep them safe. It was all he'd ever been good for. He couldn't bear it if anything happened to them. Not because of him.

Castiel was suffering whiplash. “You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies,” Dean chimed in before he could think of a proper answer to the other two. He'd come to his own conclusion. This wasn't a conversation. This was an accusation, and Dean had made up his mind. Castiel was guilty. And he was. Oh, father, he was. Don't make me watch this again.

“Okay, just wait. I don't even know what you mean,” he needed to stall for time, to think. No, wait. This had already happened. These things had been said and he couldn't change any of it. That wasn't really Dean and not really Sam or Bobby standing next to him. He was so confused. He could feel it taking hold. Soon he wouldn't be able to recognize the difference.

Sam gestured around them. “What about this demon craphole? How is it so, uh...'Next to godliness' clean in here?” He had a point. Demons were not known for their housekeeping skills.

Bobby hit him with a good one. “And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones,” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He was sunk, spinning his wheels. He had nothing to say that would satisfy them.

Castiel tried one last time. Crowley's goons were getting close. “It's hard to understand. It's hard to explain. Just let me go. Let me out and I can…,” he began. He had to try something, get them out of here. It wasn't safe. He couldn't stand it if anything happened to them, to Dean. He tried to get the man to understand, practically begging for his trust. Just a little longer.

Dean's expression darkened. “You got to look at me, man. You got to level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley,” he pleaded.

Castiel knew Dean wanted to believe it wasn't true, even now when all the evidence damned him, but there had been no other way. Not really. He looked at Dean, tried to commit him to memory. Dean's throat worked and he could see the pain, the betrayal he had caused. He couldn't give him what he wanted. He was guilty and he was so ashamed. He looked away, unable to watch that beautiful soul lose faith in him.

Dean's eyes widened, realization. He knew if he looked he could see the promise of tears in those green eyes. “You son of a bitch,” Dean cursed, lowering his head.

The playback froze, freezing at that perfect moment, denying Castiel the chance to do something different this time. He screamed in the silence, allowed only a few moments to move as he wanted before the scene began again.

He thought of a field of roses, drenched in blood. “Give it up, Castiel. By the time I release you the world will be nothing but ashes at my feet,” Lucifer whispered.

As the flames burst into life at his feet, Castiel swore he would not get sucked under this time. He needed find a way back to Dean. His Dean. That wonderful irreverent righteous man who liked cheeseburgers and pie and his annoying big little brother. The man that had smiled in the face of the Devil just so that same little brother wouldn't die alone. He fixed that image in his mind as the scene played again and again and again. And eventually, when his mind refused to deal with it any longer he managed to take himself back to that perfect moment, with Dean and his guitar.

Did he fall asleep?

For a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> Umm, so this is what happens when I try to write schmoop. Also, I admit that I lied about the human AU thing, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise.
> 
> **The treatment for tinea versicolor, the fungal skin rash I described on Castiel's back, is selenium, the active ingredient in some dandruff shampoo formulations. Hence the reference to the color blue.  
> **The song lyrics I used came from More Than Words by Extreme.  
> **The first dream sequence was taken from Supernatural S8E17 “Goodbye Stranger” and the final scene was taken from S6E20 “The Man Who Would Be King”. I copied all the dialogue. The second dream sequence is entirely a product of my imagination.


End file.
